Bellum Gerentae
by Litterae
Summary: For wherever there are greater hopes, there is also fiercer envy, more dangerous hatred, and more insidious jealousy. - When a harmless accident evokes an Unwritten Code, it's war at Cackle's. How far will it lead? How long will it remain unnoticed?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This has originally started out as something very different. But the characters wouldn't have it, and I have, after long struggles, given in to their threats ... erh ... _suggestions_. So you see, nothing is mine. Not the characters, not the settings. Even the plot has been ripped out of my hands.

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There were exactly two outings in the whole school year that Constance Hardbroom approved of.  
The first were the Hallowe'en celebrations, and while under ordinary circumstances, Miss Hardbroom did not care for unproductive frolicking of any kind, the thing that got Hallowe'en off the hook was the fact that it was, well, _traditional_. And Miss Hardbroom did care for tradition.

The second was the annual outing she undertook with the third year girls to gather potions ingredients. While the school's usual inventory of herbs was purchased at _Hag's & Horrock's_ – it simply was not doable to satisfy the enormous demand of the school with hand-picked plants – Miss Hardbroom took great care to make sure the girls were reasonably well-versed in the task. She did care for tradition.

She would drag them out of their warm beds before dawn and chase them out into the surrounding fields just in time to watch the sunrise. She would be her usual, stern self, barking instructions and information at the half-awake girls, and yet Miss Cackle had yet to see a class in which not one of them would see their potions mistress in a new light after their day-long lecture.

This year, however, might turn out to be different. This year's third years were always different. They had Mildred Hubble.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to come along, Constance? Surely a second pair of experienced eyes will do no harm when you are letting Mildred Hubble and Enid Nightshade in the closer vicinity of poisonous plants."

Miss Cackle felt compelled to make the offer. Granted, she made it every year, and every year it was politely refused. But she had a hunch that this year, her Deputy Headmistress might just accept. Goodness knew that it would be necessary to watch the girls' every step. Besides, it wasn't as though all of them were sweet little angels. Miss Cackle thought briefly of Ethel Hallow, but decided that it was better not to voice these concerns to Miss Hardbroom. She could do without The Look.

"It is very kind of you to make the offer, Headmistress, but the excursion was thoroughly prepared. I have every confidence that the girls will behave with the discipline and dignity becoming of their advancements in the Craft." The thin smile on Miss Hardbroom's lips became ever so much thinner. "I am afraid that otherwise, they might not like the consequences."

She then returned her attention to the cup of tea in her hands, better to pretend that she had not noticed her superior's relieved grimace. They went through the same spiel every single year, and every single year it was on the tip of her tongue to tell her to just shove it if she did not want to go. But she let her make the offer anyway, and then proceeded to graciously refuse. She did have a soft spot for tradition.

With a glance towards the eleven o'clock that the old grandfather clock pompously proclaimed, she set the cup down and announced that she was retreating to her quarters.

Traditionally, the night before the potions outing was the only night that she thought merited a full night's sleep. After all, it would not do to indulge in four to five hours of inactivity on a regular basis.

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	2. Chapter 2

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For wherever there are greater hopes, there is also fiercer envy, more dangerous hatred, and more insidious jealousy.  
- _Lucian -_

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Mildred stepped from one foot to the other and fervently blew onto her cold fingers. Rubbing her hands together, she glanced around the misty courtyard where her classmates were huddled together to absorb as much warmth from one another as possible.

Miss Hardbroom was standing in the midst of them and repeated, once again, which plants they were going to gather, and which ones they were not, under no circumstances whatsoever, to touch.

Enid sighed impatiently. "I don't see why she keeps droning on," she whispered. "We went through this a hundred times. Does she really think any of us are going to touch _Urtica ferox_ after the talking-to she gave us the other day? These are at least another ten minutes we could have spent in bed!"

"Enid Nightshade! If the potential dangers of the plants you are about to encounter are not something you think merits your attention, then keep chattering, by all means. But do not come whining when you have a rash on your hand because you _could not listen_!"  
Enid pulled a face that was a perfect imitation of HB's stern expression, but shut up nonetheless. She was not nearly awake enough to be getting on the bad side of her already.

Miss Hardbroom's eyes swept over the assembled girls one last time, and she gave a small nod. "Very well then. If there are no more questions, we'd better not waste any more time. Ethel, lead the way."  
She watched as the girls dripped out of the school gate in twos and threes, taking care to be the last one to go. There was always at least one who thought that she was particularly clever and tried to sneak back into her warm bed.  
But the courtyard was satisfyingly empty, and she shut the gate with am emphatic _thud_. Miss Hardbroom allowed herself a small smile. Trying though it always was, she was ready to face one of her favourite days of the year.

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Drusilla took another step and slipped. "Toads and Warthogs!" she hissed. "Why does HB chase us out in the cold after it's been raining for two weeks? I'm soaked!"

Ethel rolled her eyes. "You have to be more careful, Drusilla. If you kept your eyes open, you wouldn't be sitting in the mud. Now get up. You still need to get me some pondweed." She impatiently gestured in the general direction of a nearby puddle.

Drusilla glowered, but scrambled to her feet anyway. The advantages she had from her allegiance with Ethel were by far too great to be tossed away over a little mud.  
That did not keep her from cursing under her breath as she stalked towards the puddle. She did this with great expertise and variety, and any one who might have listened would have noticed that this was a girl who spent a lot of her time muttering words of questionable decency just out of earshot. She was well aware that she was Ethel's minion, but she had always questioned the tradition of minions labouring away in silence. Everything was a lot more bearable with a healthy curse on the tongue.

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Maud was worried. Granted, she was easily worried, up to the point where she _worried again_ that she might be a spoilsport, but surely it couldn't go well when Enid and Mildred were standing knee-deep in the water, their almost-empty little herb-baskets forgotten, and throwing pondweed at each other? Even if it was just for good fun? Surely, any minute now, HB would notice their screaming and screeching and would swoop down on them like the great black avenging angel she probably imagined herself to be? Or worse, Ethel would notice and tell HB. That would change nothing about the swooping down part, but Ethel would get to look smug. And Ethel was unbearable – well, more unbearable – when she got to look smug.

As Maud threw another anxious glance across her shoulder, her heart dropped.

It might not be HB. It might not even be Ethel.  
But it was the next worst thing.

Stumbling down the hill, and very much absorbed in her own private conversation, came Drusilla.

Maud drooped. Perhaps now was a good time to worry about how long it would take her hand to de-cramp after the detention that she could see looming on the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

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Mildred squealed as an especially nasty handful of slime and weed hit her near the chin. She couldn't quite remember how she and Enid had ended up engaged in a mud fight. Maybe she had slipped and dragged Enid down with her when she grabbed her in a lost search for support. Or had she slipped after Enid had snuck up on her from behind and shouted 'Boo!'? It was all gone from her head when the first round of slimy wet stuff had hit her in the face.

Maud had been standing a few yards off and pleading with them to please stop it and be reasonable before Miss Hardbroom caught them, and couldn't they please, _please_ _calm down_? They had laughed and chucked some water her way – HB was way off on the other side of the hill, probably meticulously approving every single leaf Ethel put in her little basket and not giving a thought to anyone else. Could Maud not relax and enjoy the sun that had finally crept out? They could fill their own baskets in just a minute, and –

Mildred turned around when she saw Enid stopping dead in her tracks.

Shoot. Maybe now was a good time to get a grab of the basket and put some of that pondweed in it.

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Drusilla smiled. She knew very well that it was a frightening sight when she smiled, and so she reserved it for very special occasions. Catching three of her favourite punching bags covered in slime and disgusting green stuff certainly deserved the honour.

She strutted downhill with new enthusiasm, her half-filled little basket dangling from her hands folded behind her back.

"Now there. Hubble Bubble and her little friends. Did you slip, Hubble Bubble?"

Mildred and Enid had by now crawled out of the water and were clutching their own baskets – there was no putting it past Drusilla to trip them over just to spite them.

"What do you want, Drusilla?" Maud stepped next to her two friends for some confidence and lifted her chin in defiance.

"Oh, I don't know. How about your pondweed, for starters?" She was still smiling, and she knew that it was creeping them out. Behind her, she could hear Ethel trotting down the hill, and she turned around, quite eager to show off her catch.

But Ethel could be relied on to snap. "I thought I told you to get me pondweed, Drusilla. We don't have all day, and I certainly don't fancy finishing last." She shot a nasty look at Mildred. "Better leave that to _her_."

"I was just about to get the pondweed, Ethel, honest."

"Well don't _stand_ there, then. Get it!"

Drusilla went for Maud, who seemed to have not only the most weed, but also the smallest inclination to put up a fight. She grabbed one end of the handle. "Let go, Moonface!"

"Leave her alone!" Mildred grabbed the other end of the basket, which Maud had already given up as a lost cause.  
They both pulled at it with all their might, but suddenly, Drusilla could feel her fingers slip, and with a sharp pain, her hand scraped along a patch of broken wickerwork before she had to let go.  
She stumbled backwards and right into Ethel, who was less than pleased, until she got a look at Drusilla's hand.

"You've done it, Mildred Hubble!" she cried triumphantly. "Look at what you've done! This will cause you some _real_ trouble."

Mildred was confused. She could see that Drusilla's hand was bleeding lightly from where it had gotten caught in the woodwork, but surely they had already done worse to each other? How could a little scratch compare to a day spent as a frog?

"Oh _Millie_", Maud whispered. "She's right: you've really done it now."

"But how – what do you mean? We've done worse things before! Think of all the spells she cast on us! Remember when she made me fall off my chair and my knee was all bruised?"

"Yes," Enid said with a grave voice totally unbecoming of her. "But this is the first time any of us have drawn blood."

"And therefore," Ethel said with a wicked gleam, "following the Unwritten Code, I declare all-out war on you!"

"Wait a second!" Things were moving a little too fast for poor Mildred. "Look, Ethel, I'm really sorry Drusilla got hurt, but –"

Maud took a step forward and extended her hand. "First one to go blabbing to HB admits defeat."  
It was with great seriousness that Ethel closed up to Maud, and took her hand, and shook it.


	4. Chapter 4

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She let go of it after a second, of course, and turned to Mildred.

Who took a step back.

And another, and another.

But Ethel followed, and again, and again. And suddenly, she took another quick step and pushed Mildred, who gave a surprised yelp and landed in a scrub of stinging-nettles.

Ethel stepped back with a smug grin on her face and folded her arms in front of her chest, as she was known to do. Drusilla took the proven and tested place by her side and mirrored her stance.

Mildred finally got her wits together enough to take a look at her arms, and gave another wail: there was an angry rash rapidly spreading all over them, and her legs weren't looking any better.

"Ethel! What did you do that for?"

"It's war, Hubble Bubble. Have you already forgotten?"

She gave Drusilla a smug nod, grabbed a handful of pondweed out of Mildred's herb basket, and stalked off in the vague direction of the others, Drusilla faithfully bumbling along behind her.

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Miss Hardbroom had never pegged Jadu Wali for one of the students who were interested in potions and herbs. After all, she had never shown any remarkable aptitude in the lab. If anything, she had been exceedingly unnoticeable, doing as she was told and achieving acceptable, though certainly not outstanding results.

And yet here she was: the only one who hadn't taken the basked and run. The only one who had taken the opportunity to stay behind with the horrid form mistress and ask her questions.

Miss Hardbroom was surprised, to say the least. And, of course, she was pleased. Maybe, just maybe, all was not lost with this year's form three. She had settled herself for a comfortable day in between the plants, and with a willing student next to her.

They spent over an hour without picking a single plant to put in their baskets; instead rolling single leaves between their fingers to increase the smell, and discussing its characteristics. They were feeling textures: rough and smooth, hard and soft, prickly and tickling, stable and fragile. Where it was advisable, she showed her how to choose the best plants by tasting the leaves. They pulled up henbane by the roots, and she told her what to use them for, and how to brew them, and what to use the leaves for, and the blossoms, and the stem. And whenever she would look up from the plant, she would see Jadu there, with her face scrunched up in concentration, and for once, she allowed herself a smile, for all was indeed not lost.

During their work, she had managed to ignore the shrieks and squeals that were such obvious signs of Mildred Hubble and her companions not doing as she had so very clearly told them to do. Granted, every now and then she closed her eyes in exasperation, willing the girls to just _be quiet_, but Jadu would soon ask another question, and off she would be again.

Until, suddenly and after a suspiciously long silence, Mildred gave a howl that spoke all too clearly of shock and pain. And Miss Hardbroom, shoved out of the cosy little universe she had created for herself today, rolled her eyes, got up, folded her arms, and disappeared.

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Maud and Enid had just pulled a whimpering Mildred to her feet when a sharp _crack!_ announced the presence of Miss Hardbroom.

"Well? What is this abominable noise about?"

She let her sharp eyes bore into each of them for a few seconds before settling on Mildred, who, quite obviously the source of the disturbance, was covered head to toe in burning red blotches.  
The girl squirmed for a moment, took a tentative look at her teacher's face, and was met with stony silence. She sighed, swallowed and opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but it really wasn't my fault, because –"

Here, Mildred received a quick jab in the rips from Maud, who quickly continued.

"Mildred stumbled across a stone, Miss Hardbroom, and fell into those stinging nettles. She gave us quite a fright."

Mildred was quite lucky that HB was doing another one of her famous eye-rolls, because that meant that she missed the look of incredulity that she was giving to Maud. She then carefully took Mildred's arm into her hands and ran one of her bony fingers over the rash. Mildred winced.

"Really, Mildred, I don't know what to do with you. At the rate you're going, you will have managed to kill yourself before the term is out."  
She squinted her eyes and gave another quick jab before she let go of Mildred and straightened herself back up.  
"It's no use. You managed to place yourself into a particularly vicious kind of nettles. Normally, the burning would fade in a few minutes, but this is a different kind I managed to bring in from New Zealand. We can't have you wandering about like this for the rest of the day, and – good heavens, girl! Don't scratch it!"

She pulled Mildred's hand away from her arm and kept her wrist in a vice-like grip, just in case.

"Maud, Enid, collect the others and meet us over there. We're going back to the school."

Maud and Enid blinked, clearly flabbergasted that something as trivial as a nettle burn would bring the whole excursion to a halt. Ethel had landed quite the punch, and they would need to –

"_Now!_"

HB's bark made them jump out of their thoughts and go off to find the others. They looked back over their shoulders at poor Mil, who looked quite bedraggled.

Maud couldn't blame her. HB looked ready to spit fire, and it seemed that Mildred was to be at the receiving end of it. Maud felt a guilty twinge of gratitude that it wasn't her, and, with a last worried glance at her best friend, went after Enid.


	5. Chapter 5

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Miss Cackle had been Headmistress for a good many years, and was thusly not easily surprised. She had seen it all: students turned into various animals, classrooms burst into flames, and the nastier injuries that came with broomstick flying. There was precious little that she really counted on, but amongst those things, relying on Constance to be back when she said she would be back was a safe bet.  
With the reassuring knowledge that her exhausting Deputy would be out until sundown, she had holed herself up in her office to catch up on some paperwork and – and who would deny her this after the stressful few days she had had? - have some well-deserved tea and cake. She usually reserved these treats for the rare times when Constance was not about. And so, after lunch, and having put away the last file, something rather nasty about a first year turning her teeth into jelly, Miss Cackle readied herself to enjoy an afternoon of silence, with a good book and a nice cuppa for company.

Imagine her shock, then, when halfway through her second cup and only two chapters into "Charmed Cheesecakes for the Advanced Gourmet", there was the distinct sound of nailed boots and angry commands in the courtyard.

A quick look out the window showed that form three had indeed returned early. And judging from the look on Constance's face as she was leading a Mildred Hubble that was covered in blisters and rashes, and a Drusilla Paddock clutching a bloodied hankie to her hand inside, the number of annual outings that received her approval had just shrank to one.

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Later that night, when Enid and Maud sneaked into Mildred's room, they were greeted by a frosty glare.

Enid ignored her friend's obviously displeasure and let herself fall next to her onto the bed. The old mattress screeched in protest.

"So, old HB got rid of the rash? Good for you!"

Mildred didn't answer.

"Oh come on, Mil. What are you brooding about? Other people would be happy that they wouldn't have to keep running about covered in blisters."

"Other people wouldn't have been glared at by HB for their clumsiness, either. It really wasn't fair, you know. It wasn't my fault, after all. Why wouldn't you let me tell her that Ethel pushed me?"

"Oh Millie. Please don't be mad." Maud really hated it when things were tense between them, and tried to make amends. "But had you forgotten? We're at war with them, and following the Code, the first one to spill the beans to a teacher admits defeat. We couldn't let that happen, could we?"

Mildred looked doubtful. "I suppose. But I don't get why you take this whole war thing so seriously. I had to copy lines from the Witches Code often enough, and I've never seen anything about a war."

Maud and Enid looked at each other. Sometimes it was painfully obvious that Mildred did not come from a witch family.

"You won't find that in the Witches Code, Millie," Enid explained. "It's from the Unwritten Code. As soon as a prank goes too far and blood flows, the two parties will be at war with each other."

"Right," Maud added hastily. "And the nettles were their first move. That's why we came, actually. We need to talk strategy. The longer we wait, the more time we will give them to think of something really nasty for their next strike."

Mildred was still too hurt to be surprised at her usually gentle friend's fierce attitude.

"We could just stick some nettles into their sheets at night and see how they like that," she suggested crossly.

"We can't do that!" Enid exclaimed. "They've already done nettles, and whatever has already been used or attacked in a Witches War is out of bounds afterwards. So say, if we were to tamper with their spell books, they wouldn't be allowed to touch ours …"

"Basically," Maud interrupted Enid, because she could already see where her train of thought was going, "the point is to strike first if you want to protect something of yours. So, before we think of where Ethel and Drusilla would be most vulnerable, maybe we should think about where we might want to prevent an attack on us."

Mildred huffed, clearly not keen to join the discussion, and so Maud continued.

"Enid, you made a good point about the books. I for one wouldn't fancy for something to happen to mine. But what should we do?"

Enid pulled a face as she tried to think of something. "We could make all the words disappear."

"Nah, that would be too obvious. But we could change the formulas. I saw this book the other day about text coding. There was a spell for exchanging every tenth word of a text. That should do the trick and mess their spells up nicely."

Enid beamed. "Maud, I don't say this as often as I should, but I really think that there is some real prankster material inside of you. I'm in."

Maud blushed, and looked to Mildred.

"What do you think, Mil?"

"I don't care. I don't want anything to do with your stupid war. It was an accident. I apologized to Drusilla, and they still made me pay for it."

"What did you expect, Millie? They're Ethel and Drusilla!"

"Still, I'm having none of it. My ears are still ringing from the talking-to HB gave me this afternoon about being more careful, and I think it's not fair that you want to drag me into even more trouble when I'm barely scraping by as it is."

Enid and Maud sighed and left for their rooms. Mildred was a really good friend, but in all the years she had spent at Cackle's, she had so far failed to learn that a witch's life was hardly ever fair.


	6. Chapter 6

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Miss Drill watched Miss Hardbroom over the rim of her tea mug. The potions teacher seemed, if at all possible, to be emanating an even stronger passive-aggressiveness than usual. She shuddered to think of the moment when she would enter the lab and passive would change to active at the slightest noise the girls might make. Miss Drill cringed at the memory of supervising a detention wherein three girls had been made to write out, in their best hand, 500 lines of 'I must pay more attention to the volume of my breathing.' the last time Miss Hardbroom had been in this kind of mood.

She shot a quick smile at Miss Bat, who came bustling into the staffroom in her usual early-morning fluster.

"Oh for heaven's _sake_, Davina, must you make such _noise_?"

Miss Hardbroom clearly wasn't pleased. Miss Bat looked ready to retreat to the safety of the stationary cupboard under the withering glance of the Deputy Head, and when her lower lip started to wobble, Miss Drill decided to pipe up.

"My, Constance, whatever important things could Davina have been interrupting? Not class preparations, on such short notice, surely?"

Miss Hardbroom looked ready to snap the pencil she was holding. Miss Drill buried her nose in her mug again, silently congratulating herself for getting under the unflappable potions teacher's skin.

"_Some_ people, _Imogen_, like to collect their thoughts _in silence_ before they go out to face the never-ending battle of bestowing a little knowledge on fluttery young minds. Mind you," she continued with mock lightness, "some of us have less … ah – _challenging_ lessons to prepare."

Miss Drill shot out of her seat and nearly spilled the rest of her tea in the process.

"I beg your pardon! My subject –"

"Yes, yes, we know the _drill_," Miss Hardbroom interrupted huffily. "'_Your_ subject is just as valuable and justified as the others', and you're _tired_ of being 'constantly picked on' and 'having to defend yourself' because you are not a _witch_."

"Well I am!" Miss Drill did her best not to sound like a petulant child, but the knowing smirk on Miss Hardbroom's face told her that her attempts were futile. She hated how her colleague could make her seethe with a single sentence that, had it come from, say, Miss Cackle, would have been kind and understanding.

Miss Drill plopped back into her chair and, with a deep breath to regain her composure, reached for her abandoned tea mug.

"Tell me, Constance, do you enjoy making everybody's life a living hell?"

Miss Hardbroom, apparently calmed by her outburst, gathered a few marked tests and, with a quick glance towards the clock, made to leave the staffroom.  
At the door, she stopped and turned around.

"Oh, not everybody's life. My cat still seems to like me."

And off she was. Miss Drill looked at Miss Bat, who merely shrugged and put some daisies that she had conjured from the depths of her pockets into her tea cup.

"Cats are very strong-minded creatures, you know. Never quite know what's going on in those furry little heads."

With this, she sombrely poured her steaming hot daisy-concoction into the flower-vase that was decorating the staffroom table.

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It was quite usual for the potions lab to be abuzz with chatter before the arrival of Miss Hardbroom: formulas being revised at the last minute, or jokes cracked, or gossip shared, or, as was often the case with form three, stinging remarks being flung across the room.

Today, however, the noise was even louder than usual. For one thing, there were those who grilled Jadu about voluntarily spending hours alone with HB – "Did she make you write down every word she said?" "Did she make you recite potion recipes backwards?" "Did she make you _eat_ the plants?" "No, but she made me repeat everything, and she showed me how to touch them and cut them and store them, and yes, we did try some leaves. I couldn't believe it either! HB eating flowers …" – and those who grilled Mildred about falling into the nettles and having to get help from HB – "So you just _tripped_?" "Doesn't the rash usually fade on its own after a while?" "Did she yell at you?" "Did she tell you to pee on it? My grandma always told me to pee on it!" "Yes, yes, I _tripped_," angry glare to Maud and Enid, "No, these were some strange nettles of HB's. _No_, she didn't tell me to pee on it. She gave me this horribly sticky salve, goodness knows what was in there. My ears are still ringing from the earful she gave me. No, really, the salve did help –" – and, of course, there were Ethel and Drusilla, sitting next to one another in the front row, nudging each other with their elbows before gesturing at their new-sworn enemies and laughing into their fists.

All of this hubbub, however, died down the second their form mistress barged into the room, slamming the door behind her and dropping her books onto her worktable in the front. Miss Hardbroom did have a way of creating, in a matter of seconds, a silence so intense that you could hear the proverbial crickets chirping.

"Now I know that we had planned to spend this morning drying and conserving the plants you were meant to gather yesterday. However, as we were forced to cut the trip short," she shot a nasty glance in Mildred's direction, and Ethel and Drusilla snickered again, "we will use this lesson to revise the impact of incantations on potion making."

The whole class groaned. Spells in potions were always extra hard. Miss Hardbroom had probably never heard Miss Cackle's little speech about the right words not being as important as the right feeling.

"_Quiet_. Ethel, you may begin by reciting the spell to prepare this basic solution for the brewing of a translation potion."

Even from behind, Ethel was oozing sycophantry out of every pore.

"Yes, Miss Hardbroom."

She cleared her throat, picked up her book, and straightened her back. Maud and Enid grinned at each other.

"_liquidae structuram apta, linguas deprave_"

Miss Hardbroom frowned, and was just about to open her mouth to say something when the liquid in front of her started to bubble and, with a great _bang!_, exploded all over the lab.

"_Really_, Ethel. It's _traduce_, not _deprave_. Use your eyes, girl."

Ethel sank down in her seat, looking every bit the rightly chastised pupil.

"Yes, Miss Hardbroom. I'm sorry, Miss Hardbroom."

HB nodded tensely and, with a sigh, produced another bottle of the same liquid.

"Very well then. Mildred, it's your try."

While Mildred struggled through the incantation, Ethel turned around and mouthed, very clearly, 'Just you wait.'


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I was cut off the internet for a few days. Also, this story will be put on hold for a while, presumably until mid-november, but don't worry, I'll be back.

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After class, Mildred was unusually quick to pack her things and high tail out of the lab, but Maud and Enid managed to catch up with her in the corridor. Their friend, however, paid them no heed but strutted on with great determination and, to their chagrin, great speed.

"Millie."

Walk. Walk. Walk.

"Millie, _wait_!"

Eyes a-rolling, Mildred turned around with a "_What?_" that would have done Ethel justice in annoyed-ness.

"Did you see HB's face when her precious Ethel messed up the spell? And she didn't guess a thing! Oh, Ethel was fuming! We'd better –"

Mildred cut Enid off. "Look, I said I wanted no part in your silly war, and I meant it."

"Oh come on Mildred, it was hilarious. And it gave you an opportunity to shine. Don't say you didn't like that after yesterday."

Mildred hmphed.

"Oh Toads Eggs. Do whatever you like, but leave me out of it."

And off she went.

In a nearby corner, Ethel and Drusilla were putting their heads together. Maud and Enid could not really understand what they were saying, but they did notice how they looked after Mildred as she practically stomped up the stairs, her long plaits flying behind her.

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From time to time, there was still flying practice for form three. There was not much occasion for them to fly with their cats, and Miss Hardbroom never tired of pointing out that their furry little friends certainly did not develop an elegant flying posture by lazing about in their rooms.  
Despite there being one or two rather good cats in the class, today was one of the rare occasions when Miss Hardbroom had brought down her own cat, Morgana.

Now, Morgana was a cat quite unlike any you'd ever seen before. Granted, she was sleek and black just like the others, but when you looked closer, her frame seemed to be that little bit more slender, the colour of her fur that little bit darker, her movements that little bit more elegant, her green eyes that little bit smarter.  
She was the very image of a witch's cat, and right now she was sitting on the back end of HB's hovering broomstick, looking utterly blasé. Her mistress was standing behind her, explaining, "once again", the importance of an absolutely balanced broomstick to allow for a perfectly poised cat.

When the time came for the girls to put her words into practice (not that Miss Hardbroom expected them to manage. They had already practiced this _a hundred times_. What was it with today's cats? Her Morgana had been sitting as straight as she did today after little more than a year of training, and these cats were still slumping about after _three_.), Maud felt that she and Enid should watch out for themselves, because Ethel was sending them nasty looks. And she _did have_ a reputation for tampering with brooms…

But everything seemed to be going quite smoothly. Maud had watched every move of her teacher as she had put Morgana on her broomstick, and copied them to a T (hold her a little differently, watch out which foot touches the broom first, scratch the ear a little before letting go), and she noticed with great satisfaction that Midnight did seem to be sitting on the broom more proudly than before. He remained that way during the first simple exercises they were doing, and for some time, Maud forgot to worry over the joy of flying with her vastly improving cat. It really felt quite different when –

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched wail and a crash.

Mildred. And Tabby, who was still as unwilling as ever.

Maud swooped down at once to get to her friend and see if she needed any help. Once her feet touched the ground, she could not help but to look up into the sky and watch out for Ethel.  
And sure enough, there she was, sitting on her broom with her sickeningly perfect Nightstar, grinning down on the crashed Mildred and calling "Hopeless. As usual!".

But funnily, her smile conveyed nothing but her usual schadenfreude. Judging from the look on Mildred's face as Miss Hardbroom lectured her on balance and finally let her go with a "And for heaven's sake, girl, at least get a new broom!", it had been business as usual.

The look Ethel sent after Mildred as she hobbled into the castle with her taped broom and bruised cat, though, did not bode well for them.

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After flying practice, Miss Hardbroom headed straight to the staffroom, Morgana still safely perched on her shoulder.  
When would form three finally grow up? Was it really impossible for a young witch in her third year of training to _stay on her broomstick_? One of these days, Mildred Hubble was going to be the death of her. And Ruby Cherrytree hadn't been much better, what with her cat practically falling asleep on her broom. Asleep! Witches' cats did not sleep when there were people around!

Having poured herself a cup of tea, Miss Hardbroom gratefully sank into the armchair by the unlit fireplace and, after scratching Morgana behind her left ear, took a long sip.

"_Challenging_ lesson, Constance?"

Miss Hardbroom closed her eyes. How was it that none of her colleagues seemed to be able to rise above pouting? Miss Bat, at least, left everybody to mind their own business after she took residence in the stationary cupboard. Miss Drill, however, was simply unable to let a remark go, and apparently gained a childlike glee from picking up arguments that, in Miss Hardbroom's opinion, were long finished.

"Oh, you know, Imogen, the usual business of keeping young witches from accidentally killing themselves." And against her better judgement, Miss Hardbroom couldn't resist muttering into her teacup, "Then again, maybe you don't."

Predictably, Miss Drill shot out of her seat, her mouth opening in a cry of outrage.

"Really now. If anyone in this school has experience with getting the girls out of near-death situations, it's the PE teacher!"

"Because running around in the mud and throwing balls through windows is so much more dangerous than a blown-up potion or falling from a flying broom, I'm sure."

Miss Hardbroom leaned back into her chair and resumed her stroking of Morgana, who had taken residence on her lap by now.

"Well, if it's so easy, _Constance_, why don't you give it a try? After the _challenges_ you usually face, it should be a picnic."

"Oh, it would be, make no mistake. I fail to see, however, how you might intend to put this nice little idea of yours into action."

Miss Drill headed for the door, her face smug.

"We'll just have to ask Miss Cackle what she thinks of this, won't we."

"_What_?"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I was able to get back to this story sooner than I thought, and am now back in the process of writing it. I hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

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Miss Cackle leaned back in her chair and thoughtfully rubbed her chin.

"A teacher exchange, you say? Well …"

"But, you see, Headmistress, there was never any serious intention –", Miss Hardbroom managed to sputter before Miss Drill interrupted her.

"Yes, Miss Cackle. Miss Hardbroom and I thought that it would be a good way to improve staff communication."

She safely ignored the filthy look Miss Hardbroom was sending her way and continued.

"I'm sure we could end a lot of the tension amongst ourselves if we got a first hand view at the challenges and difficulties our colleagues are facing every day. Don't you agree, _Miss Hardbroom_?"

The filthy look delivered record time for turning incredulous. How could this, this _woman_ presume to be capable of teaching her subject? How dared she suggest this ridiculous nonsense to Miss Cackle, who, on top of it all, had a notorious habit of throwing judgement out the window and jumping head first into the most appalling of experiments?  
She was just about to voice her disagreement with the utmost clarity when Miss Cackle cut her off.

"This seems like an excellent idea, Miss Drill. There really has been quite some riffraff lately, and goodness knows we can do without that. In fact, I think I shall participate in this little experiment myself."

"But, Headmistress!"

Miss Cackle planted her glasses firmly on her nose and pulled a piece of paper towards her.

"No buts, Constance, my decision is final. You will be covering Miss Drill's PE classes for the rest of the week, and Miss Drill will take over potions and, as far as needed, broomstick practice. I will be swapping classes with Miss Bat."

She quickly scribbled down onto her paper, as if she were afraid that, were she to wait too long, her deputy might snatch the words away from her and never give them back.

"But Miss Cackle! Miss Drill isn't even _qualified_ to teach potions! Think of what could happen!"

"Knowing you, Constance, you have your lessons planned down to a second. I am counting on your cooperation in this undertaking. I'm sure that if we all support each other, we will manage to pull off an undisturbed week of classes, and learn a great deal from one another on the way."

On the way out, Miss Drill could not quite keep the triumphant grin off her face.  
Miss Hardbroom, predictably, left the room muttering her trademark comment on all situations that were not to her liking.

"This will all end in tears."

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Even a person as chaotic as Mildred had a regular evening ritual, though hers was not by choice as much as necessity.  
Her long plaits required a lot of time: it took longer to wash them, to let them dry, and to brush them. Every time she came home for the holidays, her mother found a way to carefully suggest that she might consider parting with them. But every time, Mildred vehemently refused.  
She liked brushing her hair in the evening. Fighting her way through the tangles was a welcome opportunity to mull the day over in her head.

On this particular evening, while she brushed and braided her hair, she congratulated herself on keeping out of the stupid war her friends had going on with Ethel and Drusilla. She had not found it at all funny how Ethel had almost blown up the potions lab, and she certainly did not want to have to constantly worry about retaliation.  
Who knew what the two of them might cook up? Knowing Ethel as she did, Mildred was sure that it was going to be nasty.

But, fortunately, she was going to have no part in it.

With a heavy yawn, Mildred put away her brush, pulled up her covers and, after blowing a rebellious strand of hair out of her face, contently closed her eyes.

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Miss Hardbroom closed her eyes in a short prayer for the restraint that might keep her from killing her colleague.

"Imogen, have you ever even _used_ a Bunsen burner?"

She was met with a look of wide-eyed innocence.

"I thought you were going to give me a crash course!"

"In potion-making, Imogen! I was going to run you through the potions you will be teaching tomorrow so that you know where the girls will be most likely to blow up the lab. I was not, however, expecting to have to show you how to heat a cauldron!"

Miss Drill spread her arms and shrugged her shoulders.

Miss Hardbroom sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

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When Mildred woke up the next morning, she felt lighter than she ever had before. She yawned heartily, stretched her arms above her head and, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, sat up.  
How weird. Her head really did feel a lot lighter.  
She reached up to run her fingers through her hair – and yelped.

Her hair was gone!

Well, not completely gone, she realised as she patted the sorry remains that ended just above her ears. Her whole bed was covered in long, brown strands.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Her hair was gone! What was she going to do without her long plaits?  
Sucking on their ends had been a great way to search for inspiration in her essays on topics like "The importance of properly tied bootlaces" or "Why I must always watch a bubbling cauldron". And now? She felt … naked, unprotected.

How could her hair possibly have been chopped off?

Mildred stopped her sniffling in an attempt to be brave. It was no use crying over spilled potion, and if she did not get dressed post haste, she would be in serious trouble with HB. Again.  
No unwanted new haircut was worth this peril.

She swung her legs out of the bed and let her feet touch the cold floor. A few lost strands fell to the ground, and she sadly looked after them.

What she saw on that floor, apart from her hair, was a pair of scissors.

It had been carefully arranged with a small bundle of stinging nettles.


	9. Chapter 9

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Down in the staffroom, Miss Drill was furiously trying not to hyperventilate. She could do this. She could, she could, she could.

She really couldn't.

It had been five in the morning by the time Miss Hardbroom had sighed and declared her fit to last trough the day without any fatalities. Though Miss Drill thought it might be a bad sign that her colleague had completely restructured this week's potions schedule around midnight, after the sixth major explosion.  
The fact that Miss Hardbroom was now calmly reading through the volleyball rules she had provided her with (with one and a half hours worth of sleep ahead of her, the idea of Constance getting hit in the head by volleyballs all morning had been perversely appealing), looking completely unfazed, while she herself was functioning on adrenalin alone (or, well, not) did not help either.

Maybe she should take a last peek at her notes. Yes. She really should.

Just as she was halfway through the first of too many pages, the staffroom door burst open, and in came Miss Cackle, singing the school song at the top of her lungs.  
Miss Drill jumped and, consequently, sent most of her notes flying to the ground. Really! Was a bit of silence in the morning too much to ask? She was just about to make some scathing comment to that regard when she remembered how she had quipped at Constance the other morning.

"Ah, good morning, ladies. I can't tell you how excited I am for our little experiment to begin." Miss Cackle hummed as she knocked on the door of the stationary cupboard.

"Everything in order there, Davina?"  
The answer was a short series of bangs and something that sounded like muffled affirmation.

"You know, Imogen, I'm really glad you had this idea. If all goes well, we will do this every year."

Miss Drill bit her tongue, forced herself to smile, and collected her notes in silence.

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In the end, Mildred didn't make it to breakfast and was almost three minutes late for potions. One would think that without her long hair to brush and plait, she would need a lot less time to get ready in the morning, but the scissors had sent her imagination off and flying.

She was positive that it had been Ethel and Drusilla's doing – who else in the school would be mean enough to do anything comparable?  
But why had they picked on her? Mildred had been perfectly clear in her intention to keep her nose out of trouble, and she didn't think that Ethel and Drusilla hadn't known this. Maybe it was just one of their wicked plots to get her to throw her principles overboard.

Yes. That was it. They wanted to provoke her into joining this stupid war. And then, they would get her and her friends into real trouble.

Well. They wouldn't have any luck.

But Mildred was pretty sure that Maud and Enid would pay them back.

Harshly.

She almost fell down the last steps on the stairs and, an apology already on her tongue, burst into the lab – only to choke on her words and dimly ask herself whether this was another one of her bizarre dreams.  
Maybe she'd wake up any minute and have all of her hair back. Because this, this simply couldn't be true.

"Mildred. How kind of you to join us. Please take your seat and help your partner prepare the cauldron. We're brewing a Wart Draught today."

Mildred pinched herself and winced. Nope. Definitely awake.  
Well, there was nothing for it then. She made for the empty seat next to Maud.

"Yes, Miss Drill. I'm sorry."

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It was going well enough, Miss Drill reflected as she marched through the rows of brewing girls.  
So far, there had been no explosions, no clouds of foul-smelling smoke, and every cauldron contained liquid of roughly the same yellowish colour.

She hummed to herself and went back up to the front to re-read the steps Constance had written up for her last night ("Read them after every step. Every single one. And then read them again. If something isn't _exactly_ as it is described, you send one of the girls for me _at once_.").

Add two rats tails to the basic solution, resulting in a light green colour? Check.  
A spoonful of daffodils, puff of white smoke and further lightening of colour? Check.  
Half an onion, turning the potion first yellow then blue? Ch- oh _shit_.

Miss Drill looked up from her notes and frantically peered into the nearest cauldron, which happened to be Ethel's. Yes, there was a definite muddiness about the yellow concoction inside. And no trace of blue.  
Bollocks.

She cleared her throat and announced that she would be back in a moment.  
"Don't touch anything while I'm gone!"

She didn't know what had gone wrong, but now that she thought of it, she vaguely remembered a muddy yellow blinking up at her from a mini-cauldron before it spewed its contents all over the lab.

She just hoped Constance wouldn't kill her.

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The group of first year girls in front of her was sporting a set of very doubtful looks on their faces.  
Miss Hardbroom sighed. When she looked at the messy heap of nets and balls, she felt exactly the same way.  
Well, there was nothing for it. Volleyball was what stood in the lesson plan, so volleyball there would be.

She flipped open the first page of the book ("A quick Overview"), and cleared her throat.

"Alright, girls. You are to form two teams," her eyes never leaving the book, she moved her arm in the general direction of the middle of the line they were forming, waving it to and fro to indicate that they were to split up, "one of them putting up the net – though the question of how will have to be addressed on another day, it appears – the other one checking the balls for air."

She looked up to see that the confusion had accumulated by a magnitude. "Ah. I take it that there are questions."  
As could be expected, Miss Hardbroom's announcement was met by stony silence. She sighed again.

"You," she waved her hand at the right half of the girls, "will go and untangle this mess disguising as a net, then find means of putting it up in a way that will enable you and your peers to throw balls over it. You," she gestured towards the left half of the girls, "will take said balls and determine whether or not they are fit to be thrown. If they are not, pumps can be found … somewhere."

Form One reluctantly started moving, and as far as Miss Hardbroom was concerned, this satisfyingly fulfilled the purpose of a PE class. But who was she to judge?

The girls shuffled around, muttering amongst themselves, but not one of them had groaned or complained, as Imogen had told her they were wont to do. Miss Hardbroom smiled to herself. She still had it, potions lab or no potions lab. She returned to the rules book in her hands. She'd be damned if she wouldn't figure out where the ball was supposed to drop by the time the girls were ready to start playing.


	10. Chapter 10

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Miss Drill's walks were always of an astoundingly brisk speed, being a PE teacher, but she had never stormed through the castle's halls with quite as much hurry.  
All the while, she was intently listening for sounds of explosion coming from behind her, and was at least momentarily relieved that none were to be heard.

Constance would kill her. She would kill her for destroying her lab, and then she would kill her again for making her play sports.  
Either way, she'd be pretty well dead.

When she finally reached the courtyard, Miss Drill was greeted by the most ordered chaos she had ever seen.  
Half of the girls were fighting with the net, which seemed to have taken a life of its own, while the other half was busying themselves with the balls. Not one girl was slugging about in the background, not one looked anything but eagerly busy. In the middle of it all stood Constance, still engrossed in "Volleyball - A How-to Guide".

Miss Drill sighed. It seemed that either you scared the living daylights out of the girls, or you didn't.  
She took a moment to gather her courage, and then cleared her throat.

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Back in the lab, almost all of Form Three threw itself upon Mildred the second the door had closed behind Miss Drill. Notably absent were only Ethel and Drusilla.

"What happened to you hair, Millie?"

"Yes, what happened?"

"Why didn't you tell us you were going to cut it off?"

"Why _did_ you cut it off?"

And while they were too busy chattering to even let Mildred answer, Maud and Enid looked at each other. They had noticed the tiny smirk on Ethel's face, and the openly wicked grin on Drusilla's.

They'd be damned if Mildred still wanted to keep out of their war.

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Miss Hardbroom was finally getting to the core of the mystery. I had been a tough fight, but the next page would at long last introduce her to the secret of awarding points.  
Her head snapped up when she heard someone clear their throat. What were those girls up to _now_?

When she saw Imogen standing in the door, a look of badly suppressed panic on her face, her eyes narrowed. She closed the book with a sharp _snap! _and stiffly walked over to her.  
"I thought I had made it very clear that you were to leave the lab under no circumstances," she hissed, bringing her face very close to Imogen's.  
"But, you said to come get you if –"

"I told you to get one of the girls, Imogen."

"I –"

She cut her colleague off with a movement of her hand. "Never mind that now. What's gone wrong?"

Imogen looked decidedly sheepish.

"I think the lab is about to –"

Just as she was about to say 'explode', there was a gigantic bang to be heard behind her, a result of fifteen mini cauldrons blowing up simultaneously.


End file.
